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LIS'J' OF THE AUTHOR'S POEMS. 



Hopeset and Sunrise 

Our Nation's Dead 

Eden-Blossom 

The Realms of Sleep 

The Measure of a Man 

The New Papa 

Florence May 

Revery-Time 

Legitimate Fruit 

April 

The Compass 

A City of Nests 

The Valley of Rest 

Milton 



Southern Bivouac 

United Service 

(iood Housekeeping 

. 111. Chris. Weekly 

Boston Pilot 

Babyhood 

Our Little Ones 

Chris. Register 

Arthur's Home Mag. 

Godey's 

Demarest's 

Cottage Hearth 

The Household 

Literary Life 



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Washington Monument : An Ode 

Wash. Chronicle 
Niagara Falls . . Brooklyn Mag. 










33 



RIPPLE BROOK 

NIAGARA FALLS 

BV ly^ 

JASPER BARNETT COWDIN 



BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
D. S. HOLMES, PUBLISHER 
Fourth Street 
1886 





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Copyright, 1886, /n-/. j9. Cvwdiii. 
All rights reserved. 




HE name, fame and trumpet of no great literary figure 
being called into requisition, these 
children of song (twins, yet not 
alike) must go forth unannounced, 
in the hope of attracting a few 
listeners to one who believes he has 
something to sing about, and is 
anxious to do it in the best manner. 
Quality before quantity is the aim ot 
the author ; yet his portfolio is not 
exhausted by these specimens, and 
a larger volume would be the result 
of sufficient encouragement. 











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RIPPLE BROOK. 




KIPPLE BROOK. 

Yes, I dimple, dimple, dimple, 

Ripple, ripple, ripple, 
Where the drooping woods may stipple 
On m)' breast the shadow-play 
Of the light leaves in tlutter, 
Vainly trying to re-utter 
My sweet ditty. How they mutter 
As 1 lau^^h and whirl away ! 



Our quaint little niece, Miss Wren, 

Visits m ' oft in the glen. 

Dibbling with jaunty grace 

In her cnie familiar place. 

Where I run my liveliest race. 

Chiming past roots and rocks. 

Sir Robin calls me a chatterbox ; 

But I am the favorite brook 

With all wise little birds; each nook 

They know, and their wings they cool 

With the silver drops of yon pool. 



Woods green from April's visit, 

Filled with the breath exquisite 

Of grasses rare, I love : 

I am the glass they bend above ; 

Lilac and daisy-star, 

I show them what they are, 

A beautiful meek sisterhood, 

The quietest tenants of this wood. 

Ambitious to become a flower. 

Along my banks at every hour 

Some bud is born, whose hiding shv 

Is ftjund out by a butterfly. 

When summer fills the meadows wide 

The soft winds push the boughs aside 

To let the sun look in at me 

And hearken to my melody. 

Soon am I coaxed from my retreat 

To thread his lanes of rich brown wheat. 




Indeed, all pleasant things I know 
Point out so man}'^ ways to go, — 

I must dimple, dimple, dimple. 

Ripple, ripple, ripple, 
Where the drooping woods may stipple 
On my breast the shadow-play 
Of the light leaves in flutter. 
Vainly trying to re-utter 
My sweet ditty. How they mutter 
As I chatter and patter away I 

The crickets chant their lone delights 

Around me in still August nights. 

When all along my leafy turns 

The firefly's golden atom burns. 

Then comes to drink my dainty pet 

The wild deer: like a statuette 

He stands, until some meteor's flight 

lightens the whole wide face of night 

With sudden flash ; swift off he bounds, 

His delicate feet making light sounds. 

Ail night upon my trembling breast 

1 rock the baby-stars to rest : 

They leave me when the sunbeams yearn 

j'o frolic with me in their turn. 




The white-clad months which He between 

October's gold and April's green 

Hang chains of silver all along 

My sylvan curves, and hush my song. 

Winter starlight, cold and keen. 

Makes bright the palace I am in ; 

Yet chiefly do I love the spring, 

For then my voice is free to sing. 

The birds have no philosophy 

To make them happy, neither I ; 

Whatever good I may be bringing, 

I think I was simply made for singing. 



So I dimple, dimple, dimple. 
Ripple, ripple, ripple, 
Where the drooping woods may stipple 
On my breast the shadow-play 
Of the light leaves in flutter, 
Vainly tr3'ing to re-utter 
My sweet ditt)^ How they mutter 
As I laugh and whirl away ! 




M^AGMA rAlsL^. 




MIAC^AKA FALLjS. 



I. 



Solemnly, slowly, tlie vast weiglit of falling 
Waters the voice of a spirit immortal 
Drowns, — and he stands, as a Heaven's great portal. 
Humbled in sight of his low earthly calling. 
Man hath no glory here ; 
Watching in silence thy soul-waking wonder, 
O Niagara ! — hearing thv thunder, 

Pride must not come near. 



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II. 



Daily the magical gold incandescent 

Sun makes thee glimmer, a gold-falling shower ; 
Nightly the silver-clad moon tries her power, 
Changing thy dense rain of gems to liquescent 
Moonlight, that sparkling falls 
In goblets upheld by spray-queens at revel, 
Who shout with delight at the white downheaval 
On their frail mist halls. 



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III. 



At the first shadowy dawn, when an angel 

Looked from the shadow-land first on earth's sflorv 
Eager to tell th}- magnificent story, 
Thou had'st already begun thine evangel. 
Sheer from the cliff, half mist, 
Thy waters leapt with the lightness of passion — 
Leapt to the lake, and in amorous fashion 
Its blue bosom kissed. 



-0- 



IV. 

They saw the experiment trial of sunrise 

Waken the young, dewy lids of the morning ; 
Witnessed the sun's rude attempt at adorning 
His western cloud-canopy, taught by the One wise, 
Great Artist in color ; 
Saw the strange moon look down in white wonder, 
While, through the night watches, rolled the deep thundc 
Richer and fuller. 



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V. 



Time from his cradle-song went to the reaping ;- 
Onward the centuries roll to their falling 
Into Oblivion's deep. Yet appalling 
As ever, thy power, its wild youth keeping, 

Thunder and smoke downpours ! — 
Far from Ontario, recreant wooer ! 
But sending thy voice and white kisses to her 
Through thy sculptured shores. 



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VI. 



\\'^ho were the mystical sons of creation 

First to discover, bow down and adore thee, 

Long ere the Indian, awestruck before thee, 

1 leard from the tall rock thy weird incantation ? 

Monstrous forms of wild life 

Came from the deep savage forest to listen ; 

Fearless gray eagles, with wings all a-glisten. 

Plunged amid tliy strife ! 



-o- 

--^ — 



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VII. 



Vanished the Mound Builders, leaving dim traces 
Of their past glory ; the Indian faded — 
His long-fallen armies slumber degraded 
Along thy murmuring shores — and weird faces 
Rapid Fancy can see, 
Countless and brown as the leaves of November : 
Mingled they lie with the mammal's white membtr 
And fossil of tree. 



<«. 



-0- 



VIII. 

Chant of the cataract, never out-dying, 

Voice like the Deathless One, constantly sending 
• Music far down the dim canyon, soft blending 
With dreams of the dead in the vale low-lying — 
Grown accustomed to hear 
Thy soothing lullaby thrcnigh the long ages, 
The thrilled cyclopean forms of old sages 
Lend a throbbing ear. 



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-o- 



IX. 



vShould thy wild avalanche pause for a season, 

Dim crowding faces would start up from slumber. 
Out from long galleries look without number, 
Anxiously look up the gorge for the reason 
Of this, their strange unrest ; 
Wondering at the dead silence around them, 
Grumbling at the rude shock which unbound them 
And left them unblest. 



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0- 



X. 



Dies not thy deafening peal of divineness, 

Till the dread trumpeter from his high station 
Calls ft)r the curtain of black desolation 
To cover the world and its tragical finis 
In the night-hush of death. 
Dread the solemnity, then, of all regions, 
The world-drama ended, its skeleton legions 
Sleeping without breath. 



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-O- 



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XI. 



Now is thy Iriumph-liour, crescent of madness ! 
Sweeping terrific in lofty descension 
Down on my weak speck of humbled pretension. 
Crushed like a swallow and drowned in thy gladness 
Lost under mightiest wave ! — 
Struggling yet bravely to keep my immortal 
Spark in full sight, lest I faint at the portal 
Of my vanquished grave. 



-O- 



XII. 



Frail my mortality looks in thy presence ; 
Yet, if I deemed that the God of all glory 
Cared more for thee and thy wonderful story 
Thixn for my handful of dust, all my pleasance 
With Him would be at jar. 
Off and away with the sorrowful presage ! 
The Man-God whispers within me this message 
" Thou art dearer far." 



iS 



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xrii. 

At the euthanasy-hour of creation 

Thou shalt behold the last picture unfolden, 
The sun's masterpiece on his cloud-canvas golden, 
His last grand splendor of gold and carnation, 
While my blind dust sleeps on — 
Thou shalt be dead when I waken ecstatic! 
Thy sun-given arch of glory prismatic 
Fade before mv crown ! 



19 



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XIV. 

AVlien the earth's jewel-kin cease from their shiniiii 
Perished the Hglit over valley and river, 
Thou shalt be silent, oh, silent forever, 
Ere my long paean hath scarce had beginning I 
Around the song-swept Shrine 
No hint of thy littleness ever shall wander. 
Impressive, jubilant thunders, far grander, 
Fall from lips divine ! 



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